Bottle Up and Explode
by moxicrimefighter
Summary: The realization hit me like a ton of hippogriffs as I watched the two of them embracing happilly: I was jealous of Zabini. For the simple fact that he had something I wanted. Granger. Nominated for Best OneShot for the Dramione Awards.


**a/n: this is a one-shot I wrote for lovexfetish who requested some Draco/Hermione/Blaise action (albeit I might have twisted it a little bit) over at a small prompt exchange on lj. My first Draco-centric piece, enjoy!**

**And as always, thanks to Heathen Respite my beta/love of my e-life.**

**_Bottle Up & Explode_**

I I don't know when the hell it happened, or more importantly _why_ the hell it happened. All I know is that one second Hermione Granger was the prissy Gryffindor good girl and the next second she was attached at the hip to Blaise fucking Zabini. Now, there were a good bit of things that had happened recently that passed the border of ordinary, but that one, that just took the entire cake.

Yes, with all the tiered toppings and the icing too.

It was at a Ministry function when I first saw them together. Granger and the rest of Potter's little disciples had taken very large strides in the reformation of the Ministry of Magic since the defeat of Voldemort, (yes, yes, by Pothead, but we all saw that one coming, didn't we?) turning them into not only the Saints they had been portrayed as since First Year, but also very highly esteemed members of Wizarding Society.

So there I was, sitting by the bar with some little blonde tart – and a talkative one at that – who kept going on and on about some Muggle-designed shoes, Manilla Blonic or something trite of the such. I had probably downed a healthy bit of Firewhiskey by that point, making sure that my date's incessant chattering went smoothly in one ear and out the other, so I couldn't be sure if _she_ was really looking at me.

But I swear to Salazar that when I glanced up, I caught her eyes boring a hole right through me. Not that I can blame the girl, not really, but things were quite different with Granger.

See, Granger and I, despite our consistent run-ins with each other, had a way of making damn sure we never said anything that sounded remotely kind to the other. And to catch her just looking at me like that? All right, it was stupid, I know, but still...

She was wearing a long trailing green satin number that dropped to her waist in the back, exposing a great deal of skin. Who knew the Mudblood had it in her? I suppose she looked all right – she still had nothing on the likes of Cho Chang and Fleur Delacour but she looked good, I had to admit. All except her shoulder blades – they looked like they could cut through steak. I always told the girl she really should eat more.

Anyway, I digress.

I was getting ready to suggest to my successfully drunk date that we leave when I saw a familiar head of black curly hair walking over to Granger and wrap an arm around her thin waist. Now my interest was piqued. That couldn't really be who I thought it was leading the bushy-haired know-it-all out to the dance floor, could it? But despite the protests of my rational thinking, I saw it with my own eyes. Blaise Zabini and Hermione Granger were sharing a rather close dance, and if my dashing liquid steel eyes didn't deceive me they appeared to be... well, bugger it, _involved. _

The next time I saw them together was at Pansy's birthday at the Leaky Cauldron. Apparently, Granger's association with Blaise was enough for her unfortunate bloodline to be conveniently overlooked. The two women were sitting at the bar giggling over brightly colored drinks, seeming almost like they were friends. But they couldn't be, because that would be as weird as Granger banging Zabini. Well there we go, all of my housemates have lost their minds.

I was talking to Crabbe when I felt, more than saw her looking at me. But this time when I looked at her, her gaze didn't waver from mine. Those sultry brown eyes locked onto mine and she gave a quick smirk before sweeping them up and down the rest of my frame. Egh, that was just...odd.

I didn't like it. Then with a gentle shake of that exorbitant mass of hair piled on her head she turned her attention back to Pansy, who, judging by her exaggerated hand gestures, was in the middle of an intricately long-winded story.

I was going to give the little Mudblood a piece of my beautifully developed Pureblood mind, to tell her she had no right to look at me like that – it was annoying and just a little unnerving – but before I got to her, I felt a strong hand on my back. I swiftly turned around to see myself face to face with a beaming Blaise Zabini.

"Draco! Glad you came!" He said, and rather cheerfully I might add. Whatever Granger was doing, she must be doing a damn good job.

"Thanks mate," I said hurriedly, trying to shake the delicious mental image of Granger 'doing her job' out of my head. I got rid of it all right, but it was replaced by an equally foreign mass of another emotion, welling up in my (finely chiseled) chest. I didn't know exactly what I was, all I knew was at that moment, I wanted to punch Zabini in his ridiculously large Italian nose.

"Oh! Hermione's here tonight, have you gotten a chance to talk to her?" he continued enthusiastically, thankfully oblivious to the murderous thoughts that were swimming around in my head.

Had I gotten a _chance_ to _talk_ to her? What the hell was wrong with this man? This couldn't possibly be the same Blaise Zabini I went to school with, whom I played Quidditch with, who I _incessantly teased Mudbloods like Granger with._ He motioned towards where Granger was sitting on a barstool, her long slender legs crossed delicately in front of her, leading me to realize how dangerously short her dress was. Her head was turned away from us as she was still engaged in conversation with Pansy, and in her hand was a...

"Granger are you _smoking?_" The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. I blamed it on the impetuous shock that had suddenly taken over my body. The Gryffindor princess was sitting in a bar sharing a cigarette with her apparent bestest girlfriend Pansy Parkinson and boy toy Blaise Zabini. What the hell was wrong with the world? Better yet, what was wrong with my Slytherins?!

"No Malfoy, of course I'm not smoking. I'm just sitting here holding a lit cigarette," she replied mockingly as she took in a long drag and blew it out slowly into the air. By Salazar, I didn't know when it happened, but Hermione Granger had become quite the little vixen. Correction – she had become _Blaise Zabini's_ vixen. Merlin!

And there. There was that feeling again.

Why the hell would she choose Zabini over me? I'm wealthier, obviously ten times more attractive, wittier, better-looking, more intelligent, and let's not forget that I am the handsomer of the two.

Suddenly it hit me like a ton of Hyppogriffs. Could this be...? Was this... jealousy?

But no.

No there was no way. The day I'm jealous of Blaise Zabini will be the day that Snape and McGonagall announce their engagement. Oh, the mere thought was _laughable._ Me, Draco Malfoy jealous of _anyone_, let alone a damn Zabini.

But as the weeks went on, all I could think of was her damn bush of hair moving all around her as Blaise moved her adeptly around the dance floor, the way that green satin clung to her curves, the way her lips pursed around the end of a cigarette leaving a small red ring from her lipstick on the filter, her wonderfully long legs crossed primly in front of her. It was simply maddening.

No, correction, what was maddening was having to see her latched lovingly on the arm of that mongoloid of a housemate at every single damn party, event, gala, or whatever else I attended. He fawned over her, telling her how beautiful she looked in her dress, fetching her drinks, dancing whenever she liked, which I must note, was very often. They would expertly whirl around, pausing every so often as he led her into a low dip, laughing deliriously as her head fell back towards the ground. That was when it happened, that was when I finally came to the conclusion as I sat and watched them embracing happily. I was jealous of Zabini because he had something I wanted.

Granger.

It was at the two year-anniversary celebration of the defeat of Voldemort when things came to a head. She was there – with Zabini of course – wearing a dress of a blue so dark it almost looked black. Something about that dress made her seem dangerous, and I didn't like it one bit.

Okay, maybe I did a little.

I watched her dance with him, like I always did, her arm wrapped around his shoulder, her hand gripped firmly in his. The way she swayed gracefully around the floor made all the other girls look like Millicent Bulstrode, minus the grunting... and the facial hair. Maybe tonight I'd ask her for a dance. No, I wouldn't. Not like I could tear her away from Zabini anyway. He was like a little parasite leeching on my Granger-time.

Oh Great Circe, I've gone off the bloody deep end.

I could feel the Firewhiskey burning its way down my esophagus as I watched, the effects of the alcohol already beginning to murk up my thoughts. She really is beautiful you know. I know I said she wasn't before, but I would climb a mountain of Chos and Fleurs to get to one Granger. Subsequently I'd have to take care of one Blaise Zabini in the process. Merlin, he was ruining everything! If it wasn't for him I could have her now. But, come to think of it, wasn't he the reason that I wanted her to begin with? If he hadn't have been with her, would I have realized this unhealthy obsession with her or just continued on in comfortable disinterest with her very existence?

The song had ended and she was looking at me again. I didn't look up, I didn't have to. I could feel those amber orbs burning into me like hot needles. Reluctantly, I drew my eyes up from my empty shot glass to look at her, standing there with a knowing smile gracing her lips. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small silver case, retracted a cigarette from the inside of it and glided towards the exit.

What else could I do but follow her? With her giving me all these looks, wearing that dress that looked like liquid nighttime poured over her body, waving around Zabini in my face, she was asking for it if you ask me.

So, really, what else could I do?

The night was crisp against my face as I swung the door open, taking long purposeful steps, though I wasn't all too clear on the purpose. But there she was, standing at the top of the stairs, the light from the moon turning her into shades of grey. Her skin was so flawless, so smooth, she could have been one of those ancient marble statues, a Michealangelo or a Bernini come to life. She drew her cigarette to her lips, the bright orange cherry the only source of light to be found other than the moon. The smoke she exhaled danced above her head before being wafted away by the slight chilly breeze blowing gently in between us She knew I was there although she didn't turn around or acknowledge me in any way, but I knew she was aware of my presence.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked quietly, a slight sing-song quality to her voice. That was a damn good question, actually. What was I supposed to say? _I saw you leaving and I kind of thought you might want me to follow you, seeing as you were staring me down for a good three minutes straight._ Yeah, that would work wonderfully well.

I kept quiet instead and reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a cigarette and lit it, moving to stand next to her. She shuffled to the left a little bit, allowing me room on the staircase. So there I was standing next to her, both of us in our own little cloud of smoke, her head tilted upward staring at the night sky. I didn't know why I said it – I'd really love to be one of those wonderfully poetic types and blame it on the moon, or the way her skin looked so smooth and white against the dark fabric of her dress, or the way her eyes were reflecting the stars or all that other claptrap. I think the more accurate reason was that I was bloody well tired of wondering.

And we all know about the Malfoy patience.

"Why are you with Zabini?" I spat more than asked. And the second I saw that haughty grin on her face, I regretted even asking. She shifted her gaze upwards and leaned back against the stone pillar behind her and let a light laugh escape her lips before taking another long graceful drag from her cigarette. Oh this was not good, time for the infamous Malfoy cover-up, so I did what I did best, turned into an arrogant arsehole.

"I was simply wondering when you suddenly had a thing for Slytherins," I said and she turned towards me. I was suddenly uncomfortably aware of close we were standing. I could see every single one of her long eyelashes, ever single freckle that was brushed across her nose.

"Well, I'm wondering when you've developed such innate interest in my love life," the former Gryffindor retaliated.

Tsk, tsk, tsk. Touche, Granger.

She was staring me down now. Why in the name of Merlin did she always do that? Her stare made me want to run and hide. Whoever thought that Hermione Granger could turn Draco Malfoy into such a Hufflepuff? Then she turned away from me, inhaling another lungful of smoke. I followed suit, happy to have escaped her gaze.

I thought the conversation was over with that but just as I was going to short my cigarette and head back inside, she spoke again.

"I needed his help," Granger stated quietly. It was my turn to laugh.

"_You _need help from_ Zabini_?" All right, I admit, maybe it was a bit rude of me to laugh, but what in the hell could she be so desperate with that required help from Blaise? He was utter shit at Potions, even with Snape being our professor, and in Charms he could barely get a simple levitating charm right. It was a surprise the bloke even passed his O.W.L.s.

"Really Granger? Now please do tell, what kind of assistance does my dim-witted best mate have to offer you?" If she said something along the lines of 'sexual healing' I swore to myself then and there I'd burn my own eyes out.

But instead she regarded me coyly, but with a slight lack of the confidence her eyes held earlier.

"You may have just answered your own question Malfoy," she responded ambiguously.

Damn Gryffindors, can't they just ever bloody come out and say anything in a straightforward manner? How the hell did I answer my own question? Why, did she need his help because he was dim-witted? No... then because he was my best friend?

"What does him being my mate have to...Oh. _Oh._"

Realization struck me, then shock, then nothing but pure unadulterated Malfoy pride. She was using Zabini to get to me? Well, then I guess what they all said about her being the cleverest witch of our age really was true.

When I looked to her again she was inches away from me, reaching up with her unoccupied hand to touch the lapel of my jacket lightly. I searched her face for any kind of indication of what brought this about, but all I found in her eyes was fire.

"Granger, I can't say that I haven't been wanting you for some time but what about B-" My words, however, were cut short when she gripped my jacket collar and yanked me down towards her with a surprising amount of strength. Her mouth was centimeters away from my ear, her sweet smoky scent surrounding me.

"Blaise is gay, Malfoy."

She gave my mind no time to process this information because it was at that moment that her lips met mine, and all other brain functions shut down. It wasn't a rushed kiss, just a gentle movement of her lips on mine, until I realized what was exactly was happening. Granger was kissing me? ME? Draco Malfoy and prince of Slytherin, arch nemesis of the Golden Trio.

I should be shoving her away and running to the closest bathroom to scour her filth off of me, but things were different now. We weren't children anymore. There were more important things than Gryffindor versus Slytherin and at that instant, all that mattered was the simple and oddly natural feeling of her being pressed to my chest, her lips searing into mine. I drew her closer towards me to deepen the kiss, leaving both of our unfinished cigarettes burning on the ground.

review, pretty ladies. 


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